


Peach

by sherleigh



Category: SHINee
Genre: Historical AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherleigh/pseuds/sherleigh
Summary: Kim Miyoung was a swindler; a crook, a fraud, a heartless woman. 
She destroyed everything. 
But my gratitude to her is eternal. She took many things from me, but she gave me Kim Kibum.





	1. from blossoms

When my father was young - a teenager - he slept with one of peasant girls in the village. He's still very charming when he needs to be, so I suppose he fooled her into thinking that he loved her, or cared for her, when the truth of the matter is that noblemen do not fall in love with girls outside their station. Sometimes I think they don't fall in love at all. 

 

She became pregnant. When she told him - when she made the mistake of telling him before she showed, before she told anyone else - he put black cohosh in tea and served it to her. 

 

Naturally, the thing that was to become my father's first child died when it was nothing more than a reddish lump of cells. 

 

So far, this story is a common one. Noblemen do terrible things all of the time; the history books are full of it. 

 

And this is where it becomes interesting. In her rage, the peasant girl turned up at our mansion when she was well enough to walk again. She cursed my father, long and loud, until the guards took her away. She cursed my father's line to end heirless, for our name to be dust in the wind, while she still draws breath. Her curse settled into the ground, into the walls of our house and the sky above it. 

 

My father's elder brother, our family's rightful heir, died before the year ended. He was 19 years old, due to be married after he had completed the civil service examinations. 

 

My father's younger brother was drafted to fight in the war. He came back a mad, ruined man; paralysed both in his mind and from the waist down. 

 

Now the sole functioning heir, my father's sole purpose in life was to find a woman and produce an heir. He whittled away at the family fortune, throwing money at any woman - of the right social standing, of course - who would give him a second glance. Still, it was only when he was at the ripe old age of 30 that any woman deigned to marry him. My mother has never been a smart or clever woman, which is why I guess she settled for my father when so many other, wiser women had passed him over. 

 

If my father heaved a sigh of relief on the day of their tea ceremony, he underestimated the potency of a grieving mother's curse. 

 

Try as they might, my mother could not carry a pregnancy to term. With each miscarriage, she grew weaker, and he, angrier. When modern medicine failed, they turned to traditional remedies, and then finally, to supersitition and witch doctors. Nothing worked. By that time, my father had given up the idea of having a child pf noble birth and was sleeping around in the hopes of getting someone, anyone pregnant with a baby that would live. My mother knew of this, but a woman who cannot perform her wifely duties cannot blame her husband for straying.  

 

And then, one day, she was pregnant again.

 

Against all odds, I lived.  

 


	2. from laden boughs

 

Damn that Miyoung. She could have mentioned that young Master Lee is beautiful; at least then I would not be stuttering at him like a fool. I don't even know what he said. 

 

Master Lee looks at me piteously, as if I were simple. "Are you sure you want to work for me?" he asks, saying each word slowly. "It will be very boring, you know. I don't get to leave the house at all. All of my other servants were old." 

 

I used to wonder why the Lee family kept their sole heir hidden away from the world in this hilltop mansion, but having laid eyes on him, I understand. He looks so delicate, so pale from being shut indoors and so slender that it seems like a stiff breeze could blow him away. My eyes stray to his lips, plump and full unlike every other part of him, before I remember myself. 

 

"I do, Master Lee," I reply, keeping my tone as subservient as possible. "I need the money."

 

"Okay," he says, and with a wave he dismisses me and Mr Oh - the man I am replacing.

 

It takes Mr Oh a full half hour to explain what my daily duties. I give him only half the attention he deserves; my mind is too full of beautiful things. 

 

 

 

I fold and put away the heavy brocade coverlet over Master Lee's bed and turn down the sheets for him while he changes into his nightclothes. I wonder what he looks like underneath all his clothes; the temptation to turn and look is strong, so I bow and excuse myself to my own chambers - little more than a narrow corridor outside his room - while he's still changing. 

 

My sleep is disturbed. The bed is unfamiliar, the air, cold. My thoughts sun through my tired head like a storm, and I wonder whether Miyoung and I have overestimated ourselves this time. This world is nothing like what we're used to. 

 

What if I accidentally kill Master Lee somehow? He looks so fragile. There must be some truth to the rumours that he was a sickly child, then. What if he dies in my care, through no fault of my own? His family will no doubt want a scapegoat at whose feet blame can be laid, and I doubt they will show much mercy to a lowly servant boy. 

 

I wrestle with the ridiculous urge to go and check if he is still breathing. 

 

The urge wins. 

 

I must have a guardian angel watching over me who urged me in the right direction; when I enter the room, I find Master Lee huddled under his sheets, shivering so hard that his teeth chatter as loud as windows rattled by the wind. 

 

"Master Lee!" I am by his side in a heartbeat. "Are you ill? Shall I get a doct-"

 

"No." I can barely understand him. His lips are so pale and colourless. "My other blanket..." 

 

There are so many cupboards in this vast room that I do not even know where to begin looking for his other blanket. Thankfully, Master Lee seems to have retained his senses despite looking like a corpse, and he points towards the footstool at the end of the bed. I look, and see the coverlet - what I thought was a coverlet, but which is apparently a blanket - that I had removed and folded earlier. 

 

"That's your blanket?" I grab the thing and throw it over him with more force than is proper. "What in God's name is wrong with you? Why didn't you tell me earlier that you need to use this as well?" 

 

He does not answer me. I tuck the edges of the thick blanket around his body, despairing with every moment that his body continues to shake. His face, when I lay my hand on it, is cold. 

 

Uncaring of propriety, I wrench open the blanket and the sheets and crawl in beside Master Lee. His skin is so cold where it touches mine; I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight, praying that my warmth will bleed into him quickly. "I know I'm just a servant, and you're the master, but you really should have said something earlier. What if I hadn't come in to check on you?"

 

"I would have woken up with a bad cold," Master Lee replies. "This cold is not enough to kill a person." 

 

Maybe not a normal person, but a person who has a family curse hanging over their head? I would not be so confident if I were him. 

 

Slowly, his body warms. He has stopped shaking. I sigh in relief, and when I breathe in again, I catch the scent of his hair. It is sweet, like a baby. His skin too, where it is pressed against mine, is soft. I am glad for the layers of clothing between us. My dangerous thoughts are interrupted when Master Lee yawns. 

 

"Just stay here tonight," Master Lee says then. "I am sleepy now, and if you leave in the middle of the night, I'll wake up and I won't be able to sleep again."

 

"Yes, Master Lee." 

 

"When it's just you and me, you don't have to use honorifics. My name is Taemin." 

 

Taemin. 

 

I know his name, but it still feels like he has given me a gift. 

 


	3. from fellowship

 

Kibum is different.  

 

My other servants saw me as nothing more than an object they had to care for; no different from caring for one of the many paintings or antiques or gardens in this house. It never mattered whether I was angry or sweet or unreasonable, they just bowed and carried on with their task of keeping me fed and dressed. If, in a fit of anger, I threw things at the wall, they just waited out my anger and cleaned up afterwards. If, in a fit of despair, I laid unresponsive on my bed, they just dressed me like I was a large doll. 

 

Kibum does not see me as my father's property. He sees me as a person; not Master Lee, but Lee Taemin. 

 

I like playing with him. Sometimes I hide when he comes to wake me in the morning; he used to panic but now he just curses me loudly and says how he is going to steal this thing or that. I like hearing him scold me. 

 

But more than that, I like it when he tells me stories. I have read so many books, of lands far away and even imaginary ones, but Kibum has lived outside of the walls of this house. He tells me things that the books never do. Now that he is here, I spend less time looking for knowledge in my library and more time learning from him. I know a good many swear words, but he teaches me how to curse like I mean it. I know the cuisines of lands both to the east and the west, but only Kibum can tell me about the time he spent catching silkworm larvae to boil and sell. I have never even seen a silkworm before.

 

When I tell Kibum, he laughs. "I don't think you'll like worms very much, not if you're scared of silverfish." 

 

I like his laugh. 

 

But what I like most of all is when he checks on me in the middle of the night. When he thinks I am asleep, he will stroke my hair and tell me something, like 'sleep well' or 'please don't be difficult tomorrow' or 'eat more, you are too thin.' 

 

If I let him see that I am awake, he will lie with me. Sometimes he talks, sometimes he hums a song, but always, his hand taps a gentle rhythm on my back; he has called me a baby so many times I think he believes it. Perhaps if he realises how much pleasure I take from his presence, how very un-childlike that pleasure is, he will not lie with me anymore. 

 

 

 

 

 

"You are very quiet tonight." 

 

"I am thinking." My deception weighs heavy on my mind tonight. I want Kibum to lie with me out of his own volition, not because I am his master and he, my servant. 

 

"About?" 

 

How do I say what I want to say? My books have given me no counsel on this. "There is a fox that comes into the garden sometimes, at night. Before you came, I used to sit by the window and wait for her. She catches the koi in the pond outside my room." 

 

"Oh. Do you want to-"

 

"That is not the point. None of my other servants knew, you see. They never stayed through the night to make sure I slept. I never expected them to." Kibum has become very quiet; his hand on my back is still. "It is not your duty to stay with me, like this, if you do not want to. I will not hold it against you." 

 

It seems an eternity before Kibum answers. 

 

"And if I want to stay, like this?" 

 

My heart soars. It feels like my voice is smiling when I say "I will be happy."

 

A press of lips against my head. I am taken aback at Kibum's boldness. "Then I will stay." 

 


	4. comes nectar

 

My days pass like this: 

 

I wake up before sunrise; if I am sleeping with Taemin, I must be careful not to disturb him. 

 

I bathe in the communal bath with the rest of the male servants and wash my clothes. By this time, the cook has prepared breakfast, which I take to Taemin's chambers. Some days, he will be in bed, still asleep or just awake. Some days, I come in to an empty room and I must find him; usually, he hides in one of his many cupboards or under the bed. It is strange for a grown man to play these childish games, but Taemin is a strange creature caught between childhood and adulthood. 

 

I leave him while he eats and clear the tray when he is done. After that, I prepare his bath; hot water drawn from the spring behind the house and peach blossoms from the trees in the garden. The peach blossoms are my own addition - they remind me of Taemin's cheeks, rosy and plump like peaches - and he has never complained about the flowers in his water.

 

Once he's bathed, I lay out his clothes. It takes me a while to learn that even though Taemin has some of the most beautiful clothes made by man's hands, he does not care for them at all. He has no eye for colour and prefers to wear yukata in dark colours instead of the many hanbok his father no doubt tailored for him. He has a few Western style suits as well. I wish I could wear them. 

 

Taemin spends the afternoon reading or being tutored in music. I am not required to assist the other servants with menial tasks, so I spend this time exploring the gardens. I wish I could read some of the books in the library, and on some days I am tempted to pretend to dust the shelves and read over Taemin's shoulder, but I cannot afford to get caught. I prefer it when he has lessons, because I am allowed to sit in and listen. He plays beautifully; I suppose I would too, if I had nothing to do all day but sit around and learn how to pluck some strings. 

 

The Lee family meet in the dining room for the evening meal. It is the only time of the day he sees his family. I often wonder what his childhood must have been like. I grew up destitute, but I was never left wanting for my mother's love. There are rumours that Taemin's mother will not even look at him; that she pretends that he does not exist. My place, however, is not to listen to or confirm or deny rumours. It is to dress him, in one of the beautifully embroidered silk hanbok, and see him to the dining room. After that, I go to the kitchens and eat with the rest of the servants. They are, as a rule, not very welcoming; they see me as favoured, a family pet, instead of one of them. It matters not. 

 

The best part of the day is when Taemin returns from dinner. He complains that the hanbok chafes him; it seems like he cannot wait to remove it. I help him undress; it is a privilege and punishment all at once. With a few tugs of silken strings, his body reveals itself to me. Like a peach; full of youth, supple and firm. My touches linger a second longer than is necessary; a second longer than is proper. Taemin never complains. His dark eyes watch me, unreadable. I wonder if he can read my desire in my face.

 

It is too dark to read and too early for sleep, so we find ways to make the time pass. He likes to hear stories about the outside world. I taught him how to play my favourite card game and for a whole week, he wanted to do nothing else. How lonely it must be, to be locked within the four walls of a house with only one's parents and servants for company. Am I his first friend? Am I his only friend? 

 

When he sleeps, I sleep; most of the time, with him. He smells like peach blossoms, so sweet and pure, and every night I struggle with the desire to defile that purity. Taemin is both an illness and a cure; when he falls asleep with his head on my chest, I feel strangely content.  

 

He trusts me. 

 

He should not. 

 

 

 

 

The house is all a-flurry with activity. 

 

Rooms which have been barred are being opened and cleaned, and even I am not exempt from this additional work. It is not difficult, merely tedious. Today, I am to clean all of the windows in the east wing, which is how I find myself listening in on a conversation between the Master and the Mistress. 

 

"He is too young," she says. 

 

"Nonsense." The old man's voice is gruff. "He is of age, that is enough. Have you even looked at him? How long do you think he has to live? By some miracle we have made it this far, but he is in no state to take over our family fortune. No, it is best for him to produce an heir as soon possible - a healthy child, unlike him - before something untoward happens." 

 

How odd it is, to have so much money that you have to worry about what will happen to it after you die. 

 

 

 

 

"My birthday is next week." 

 

I feign ignorance as I fold and put away the moss green hanbok Taemin wore to dinner earlier. "Oh. How old will you be?"  

 

"Eighteen." Taemin throws himself on his bed, limbs akimbo, and tips his head back to look at me. "I think my parents will try to marry me off. My cousin is coming and I heard the servants talking about preparing bedchambers for a woman." 

 

He is more astute than I give him credit for. 

 

"That is a good thing, right?" My lips are loath to form the words. "To have a woman by your side, your own family. Little Taemins running around. Soon you will be the master of this household." 

 

"What rubbish." Taemin flings a pillow at me, angry. "I have no desire to marry or have children. I could not care less about heirs or fortunes." 

 

I speak perhaps more candidly than a servant should to his master; but if I take too much liberty, it is Taemin who has encouraged me to trespass. "You are a child. Life is not all about reading books and playing instruments-"

 

"I want to go outside!"

 

Shocked, I stop and turn around; I have never heard him yell before. Taemin stands tall in front of me, fists clenched, breathing heavily. His eyes are wild, hurt; I see such despair in them that my own breath is caught in my throat. 

 

Slowly, I raise my hand and gently brush his cheek with my fingertips. "I am sorry." 

 

He leans into the touch, defeated. "I just want to go outside. Just once." 

 

I cannot make his parents love him, I cannot divert the course that has already been mapped out for him. But I can give him this one thing. "Then let's go outside." 

 

 


	5. o, to take

 

Kibum never ceases to amaze me. 

 

He defeats the locks that have kept me prisoner here for the past eighteen years with little more than a bobby pin and some wax. It looks so easy that I feel stupid for never escaping before; I have tried to pick the locks, of course, but I must not have been trying very hard if Kibum can do it with so little effort. 

 

The window proves to be more difficult. Has it ever been opened before? Someone must have lived in this room before me, and they must have opened the window sometime. Kibum huffs and rolls his shirtsleeves up before trying again. I have never seen his bare arms before; they are surprisingly muscular. As he pushes, the muscles tense and coil under his skin, and my mouth runs dry. If only I could reach out and touch...  

 

 The window gives with a loud creak. I jump, startled. 

 

"Why do you look so scared?" Kibum beckons me over. "I will climb down first, and you can come after me. Be careful." 

 

 

Outside. 

 

The air is different; lighter, sweeter. 

 

I have wanted to be outside for so long, but I have never thought about what I would do with that freedom. How far can I go? What can I do? 

 

"Do you want to feed the koi?" Kibum points towards pond. "You can see them close up if you do." 

 

"Yes." I follow him without any sense of urgency, taking the time to slide my socks off and plant my bare feet on the grass. It feels so cool, so wet and slippery and ticklish. I dig my toes into the ground. 

 

"Come on!" Kibum grabs my hand and tugs me along. "We can get a couple of peaches to feed the koi, they eat anything." 

 

I recognise the tree not for its fruits, but for the pretty pink flowers that have come I love simply because Kibum likes them. I pick one off the ground, the most perfect one I can find, and when Kibum has picked enough fruits to satisfy himself, I give it to him.  He takes it with a smile and tucks it behind my ear. "It's prettier on you." 

 

 

 

It is only when Kibum has stripped me of my wet and muddy overclothes that I realise how cold I am. The thrill of being outside still hums through my veins; I thought my desire for freedom might be quenched, but now I realise that I will never know peace again. 

 

Kibum shoves me under the blankets, grumbling under his breath when my body continues to tremble. "Stay with me tonight?" 

 

I hear him take his servant's tunic off. A moment later, the blanket lifts and his warm body is pressed along my back. "You ask as if I would leave you like this."  

 

When I am warm again, I turn over to face him. His eyes are so much more alive at night, so intelligent. 

 

"Do you really think marriage is a good thing, for me?"

 

He narrows his eyes. "Are you going to throw things at me again?" 

 

"Only if you give me silly answers."

 

I have no intention to do anything that will make him leave. Perhaps he sees that in my eyes, because he sighs and says "Of course it is."

 

His answer troubles me. Normally, this is as far as I would dare push things between us, but tonight, I feel bold. "What do I do with a girl?"  

 

That surprises him. "Well..."

 

"I know... I mean, I have read things, I know how everything works but..." I drag my eyes away from his curious ones. "It is one thing to read and another to do. I am going to make a fool of myself." 

 

"Everyone does." 

 

"Have you kissed a girl?" I try to resist, but my eyes stray to his lips; it is beyond belief that no one has fallen to the temptation to kiss them. 

 

"Yes." His eyes are dark, his voice soft. 

 

"What is it like?" I wonder if Kibum can hear my heart, how it pounds so loud in my chest. 

 

"Would you like me to show you?" 

 

"Yes." By some miracle, my voice betrays none of the turmoil inside. It is all I can do not to reach out and grab him, but the last thing I want to do is scare him away. We are so close that Kibum only has to lean forward slightly to reach me. I let my eyes fall close when I feel his breath on my lips.  

 

Gently, like a butterfly's wingtips, his lips brush against mine. I keep still and they press closer, seeking, pushing against the plumpness of mine. It feels like nothing I have felt before; there are no words to describe the satisfaction this simple touch brings. 

 

Too soon, Kibum leans back. I open my eyes and look at him, knowing that everything has changed between us. His eyes are clouded with lust. I wonder whether my feelings are as easily read. Still, he does not pull away when I lean forward and press my lips to his like he did to me. 

 

"Like that?" I ask, breathless. 

 

He nods against me. I lean forward for another kiss - I will steal them for as long as Kibum lets me - and he cups my jaw with a gentle hand. 

 

Oh. He takes my lips between his, sucking. My eyes fly open in surprise and he shushes me before doing it again. Unlike the earlier kiss, this one does not bring satisfaction; it brings a fire which scorches through my body. I whimper, begging for him to do something to alleviate this raging, roaring  _need_  within me. He pushes me until I fall on my back and I pull him with me. 

 

"This is how it will be," he says; with one hand, he unlaces the front of my inner shirt and pushes one side off my shoulders. The night air is cold against my skin, his hand is warm. Slowly, his fingers trace a path from my neck to my nipple. I cry out once when he rubs his thumb over my nipple, and again when he pinches it. "A woman will have breasts where your chest is flat, but this," he squeezes my nipple again and my body arches into his touch "is the same for all of us." 

 

"And here," he traces a hand down between my legs. I realise how hard I am when he cups a hand around me and my face reddens with embarrassment. "Here she will be soft and welcoming and you will part her legs like this." He pushes my thighs apart with his knee and settles over me. I feel like I will fall apart with a single touch; I look aside, not daring to meet his eyes. How easy he must think I am. 

 

Kibum leans down and kisses me like he first did, gentle and sweet. "Are you alright?" 

 

"Yes." I kiss back, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down against me. I can feel his hardness against my thigh, wet and leaking through his underclothes. "Kibum, I want-"

 

"Hush." He places a finger against my lips. "You will come between her legs and push in." He thrusts against me and I lose my breath at the sensation of our bodies pressed together. 

 

"Kibum-"

 

He kisses me into silence as he finds a steady rhythm. I try to rock back, but my limbs no longer respond to me; my whole body is an instrument at Kibum's command. 

 

"Taemin, I..." his hips break their rhythm. I am close too, and in fear that he will pull away, I tangle my hands in his hair and reach up to kiss him. He falls against me, covering me with his body as we both reach our end. It feels illicit; I have never known such high pleasure could be reached by man. 

 

"Taeminnie?" 

 

I respond to Kibum's unasked question with a kiss. He tastes sweet, like the peaches we ate earlier when the koi refused the first fruit. He nips at my lip when I try to kiss him again. I will never tire of it. 

 


	6. to carry within us

 

 

The tailor comes by the next day with three new hanbok for Taemin. He barely gives them a second glance, but my hands shake when I fold and put them away. These are not clothes but art, woven from an artist's mind into the softest, most decadent silk. One in red with an abundance of golden fish, one in midnight blue with a golden dragon chasing down each sleeve and one in black edged with golden phoenixes; these are not clothes but symbols of status and wealth. 

 

"You can have one of them if you like." 

 

"Your father will have my head if I so much as imagine myself wearing one of these." I close the cupboard before Taemin can insist. "I will get your lunch now. Will you be having it in your chambers or the library?" 

 

"My chambers." His gaze lingers on me as I bow and leave. Last night was a mistake, one for which I feel no remorse, but it has complicated things between us. 

 

Master Lee is sparing no effort - or expense, I should say - to ensure that his son is at his best for his birthday celebrations. For lunch today, the cook has prepared a soup of chicken essence, wolfberries, ginger and wine to be eaten with red rice and steamed fish. I carry the laden tray up to Taemin's chambers, set it out on the table and leave to take my own lunch. 

 

Halfway to the servants' quarter's, I realise that I have forgotten the tray and turn back to get it. 

 

That is how I catch Taemin in the act of tipping his lunch out of the window. 

 

He looks as shocked as I feel. 

 

The sound of footsteps echo down the hallway and I regain enough of my senses to shut the door behind me. "What are you doing?" I demand, in as angry a whisper as I can manage. 

 

"I ate the fish," Taemin whispers back. "But I hate ginger and the soup is full of it." 

 

Practically every soup I have brought him has had ginger in it. I feel lightheaded at the implications. 

 

There is a strange sound from the window and Taemin quickly tips the bowl of rice over as well. "Shush," he says. "We have been caught." 

 

"We?" 

 

I look over Taemin's shoulder to see the fattest fox in all creation huddled under his window, inhaling the rice he has just tipped out. My suspicions are correct, it seems. He looks up at me, defiant and worried all at once, and my anger dissipates. 

 

"You have to eat," I say wearily. 

 

"I hate ginger," he repeats. "Ginseng is too bitter and I am sick of the smell of mushrooms." 

 

There are no words of comfort I can offer. 

 

 

 

 

"Will you stay with me tonight?" 

 

I should not. "Do you wish me to?" 

 

"Do you not want to?" Taemin smooths the blankets out. "I... I will not ask anything of you, if that is what you are afraid of."

 

I should not, but I undress and crawl into his bed nonetheless. Taemin turns his back to me, most likely in an attempt not to make me uncomfortable, and I keep some distance between us instead of taking him in my arms like I normally would. 

 

Not for the first time, I notice how apparent his bones are through the thin cotton of his inner shirt. Entranced, I reach out and lightly run a finger over the curve of his shoulder. Taemin shudders under my touch, but he makes no other move. I know this is wrong, but now that my skin is upon his, I can no more hold back from touching him than the sun can from rising every morning. 

 

I slide a hand under his shirt and run my palm up his back. His skin is always so cold, but it always warms up so beautifully for me. I repeat the motion, stroking up and down slowly until Taemin turns to face me. His lips are ever so slightly swollen, pink and welcoming. His eyes flicker to my lips, wanting but uncertain. He shudders again when I put my fingers against his collarbone, so prominent under his fair skin, and taste with my skin what I want to taste with my lips. 

 

"Tell me what you like to eat." 

 

Taemin huffs. 

 

"Tell me." I wriggle closer, so that our breaths mingle. I can smell the faint scent of peach blossoms clinging to him from his bath earlier. "Taeminnie, tell me..." 

 

"Yakgwa." A dessert, honey-sweet and available only on special occasions. I smile and press a kiss to his lips. 

 

"Gochgamyeot." Another dessert, another kiss. 

 

"Gyeongdan." This time, Taemin is ready for me. He catches my lower lip between his teeth and bites down when I try to pull away. I give in, parting my lips to let him lick into my mouth as if the desserts he named can be found within. We are both breathless when we part; our lips, reddened. I put my hands inside Taemin's shirt again, cupping my hands around the flatness of his stomach. I drag them upwards, over the ridges of his ribs, seeking his nipples, but Taemin catches my wrists. 

 

"Am I..." Taemin puts his hands over mine. "Am I not pleasing to look at?" 

 

Ah, how I have misstepped. How could I let my pretty little flower think he is anything less than a blessing to my eyes? 

 

"No." Taemin recoils, hurt, but I trap him in place with firm hands. "Pleasing is not a word worthy of being used to describe you." I take a kiss from him. "You are... so powerful." Taemin looks shocked; I do not suppose that anyone has described him as 'powerful' before. "Your lips distract my every thought. I dream of them, day and night. I have starved on the streets, but I have never known hunger like this." 

 

"Kibum-"

 

I silence Taemin with another kiss because I am not finished. He sighs quietly as we break apart. I kiss his throat, right at the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. "I can smell you even when you are not with me. It is strongest here," I kiss that same spot again "as fragrant as a peach and twice as sweet."

 

My hands move downwards, over the curve of his back so that I can pull his body into mine; so that he can feel what he does to me. Taemin gasps. "You do this to me. You have turned me into this uncouth beast that molests his master in the dark of the night. Your father hired me to serve you, and all I want is to defile you, to claim you, to take you-"

 

"Then take me." Taemin grinds his hardness against mine and it is my turn to gasp. "Take whatever you want."  

 

 


	7. to hold

Mr Su summons Kibum to the Jade Room shortly after my flute lessons begin. How clever my father thinks he is. I excuse myself from the lesson on the pretense of feeling unwell and go the the east wing of the library which extends alongside the Jade Room. At the right corner of the Jade Room, the bamboo screen has worn thin. On the other side is a shelf of books. Standing there, I am obscured from view whilst still being able to hear every word uttered in the Jade Room. 

 

"-aware of the rules as to propriety in mixed company." That is my father's voice.

 

"Yes, Master." Kibum's voice. 

 

"Good. Now listen carefully. If Taemin and this girl take a liking to each other, if they are a little less proper than they should be, you will look in the other direction. And should anything of note happen, you will report to me, do you understand?"

 

'This girl' that my father refers to must be the woman he seeks to bethrothe me with. I would like to think that I am not a lech like my father who would molest a woman in front of his servant, but his blood does run in my veins. Who knows what I will do when confronted with a living, breathing woman, not one from the pages of a book? 

 

"I understand."

 

"Good. You are dismissed. You will not speak of this to anyone, not even Taemin."

 

I roll my eyes. There are many secrets in this house, but no one knows as many of them as I do.  

 

 

 

 

Sometimes I wish I had a time machine - or the ability to do witchcraft - so that I could get away from having dinner with my parents. 

 

To my father, I am both his most valuable treasure and his greatest disappointment. Under his quick temper, my mother and I learnt long ago that we are meant to be silent at the dinner table, save when spoken to. When he has a good day, he will sometimes tell us stories of his work as a politician and land-owner; how the harvests are doing, how the flocks have swelled over spring. When he has a bad day, he finds fault in everything; the way we sit, the portions we take, the way the servants have prepared the food. 

 

I expect him to say something about the girl or my birthday or anything at all, but we eat in silence as if our lives are not about to change tomorrow. 

 

Upon my release to my chambers, Kibum undresses me as usual and joins me in bed. I wait for him to say something about his encounter with my father earlier in the day; he does not. I am not surprised - he may be my servant, but my father is his employer after all and the ultimate authority in this house - but strangely, I am disappointed. I know it is foolish, but there is no one I trust more than Kibum. I wish he was not afraid to trust me as well. 

 

 

 

 

"Happy birthday." Kibum's breath tickles my ear. I blindly reach out to pull him closer, but he leans out of reach; it is too early in the morning to be awake. "Good morning and happy birthday, my little peach." 

 

That makes me smile. 

 

"I wanted to be the first person to give you a present." 

 

That awakens me quite quickly; I do not know how much my father pays Kibum, but he should not be spending his wages on me. "Kibum, you-"

 

"Hush," he says, silencing my protests with a finger against my lips. He pushes me back down on the bed and unbuttons my inner shirt, and I realise what sort of present I am going to get. I am properly awakened now, limbs and heart aflame, and oh, this is the best birthday gift ever. Kibum smiles and starts kissing his way down my chest, down my stomach and lower still. He takes me in his mouth and in no time at all, I am spilling my seed down his throat. 

 

"Happy birthday," Kibum singsongs gleefully, while I am still catching my breath. His hardness, still unsatisfied, rests against my thigh. I push my leg up against him, rubbing his arousal, and he groans. "You need not-"

 

"I want to." I do; I wish I could unravel him the way he does me. "I want to." 

 

 

 

 

"Goodness, Taemin, you've grown!" I last saw my cousin Seok Jun eight years ago, when my mother fell ill with an infection of the lungs and my uncle's family visited us. He has grown as well; he is taller than me, golden-skinned and handsome. I must seem so wretched in comparison. 

 

"You too." I glance at my father, since I am speaking out of turn, but for once he does not seem to care. The entire household has gathered for a feast in the Nine Heavenly Clouds Hall. I wish I was with Kibum were next to me; instead, he sits with the servants at the long trestle table at the end of the hall. 

 

There is a girl - a woman - next to him. Kim Miyoung. We were introduced earlier, but we have not had the chance to speak. 

 

I do not know what to make of her. She is beautiful. Her eyes are quick and clever and her lips, reddened with rouge, are entrancing. I wish Kibum had taught me how to talk to girls. 

 

"How old are you now?" 

 

"Eighteen." 

 

"Ah. What a wonderful age. Miyoung here is also eighteen, right?" 

 

She laughs. "No, I am a year older. But Seok Jun, didn't anyone tell you that you're not supposed to ask a woman her age?" 

 

"You will do us all a great favour and forgive him, Miyoung," my father says. "My wife's family is known for their business acumen, but not their table manners." 

 

"Uncle!" Seok Jun playfully protests.  

 

I feel so lost.


	8. in our hands

The night air chills Taemin's room. Ever since I opened it to take him out, Taemin has asked that the windows be opened every night to let in fresh air. I feel the chill through my rudimentary servant's wear, but Taemin for once appears to be unaffected by it under his heavy silk hanbok.

 

He looks like a prince in that bright red hanbok. His shoulders are broad and the fish embroidered into the cloth ripple with each movement. I envy him in that moment; for being able to afford such a beautiful hanbok and for wearing it so regally.

 

He has not asked me to undress him yet, and I do not want to either.

 

A knock on the door. Taemin turns to me in wide-eyed surprise, and I quickly tug the window shut as he runs to stall whoever has come calling for him.

 

The servant girl who knocked the door blushes as she bows. "Lady Miyoung requests the presence of the young master's servant at her chambers."

 

"Why does she need Kibum?" Taemin asks. The servant girl shakes her head and bows again before leaving.

 

"She asks for me because she cannot ask for you, nor can she come here to see you," I explain to Taemin. "Maybe she wants to give you a love letter, or some other token of her affection."

 

Taemin pulls a sour face. "It would take a miracle for her to be interested in me after being in the presence of my father and cousin. But I suppose you should go and see what she wants."

 

 

 

I have barely closed the door behind me when Miyoung throws herself at me so hard I lose balance. I would be angry at her were I not so glad to see her myself; to have her in my arms again. 

 

"I missed you," she says. 

 

I pat her back. "Same." Stepping back, I take a look at her. We have never been apart for so long, and I am worried how she fared without me. She looks fine, though. More than fine; she looks radiant in her ivory and pink hanbok. "How are you? How was your journey here?" 

 

She waves a hand at me. "It was fine. Seok Jun bought my story right away, without even looking at the letters or the stamp." The letters and stamp we painstakingly forged to prove the nobility of Miyoung's birth, which I lost many nights of sleep over. "We rarely travelled alone, so nothing untoward happened. Anyway, I can handle myself. How have you fared? You look good." 

 

"I get plenty of fresh air and three meals a day. I can hardly complain." I wander about her room, looking at the various paintings and trinkets the maids have decorated it with and wondering which of them I can pinch unnoticed. "But I am bored out of my skull. The days pass so slowly here and I have nothing to occupy my mind." 

 

"Poor you," Miyoung coos in fake pity. She throws herself face down onto the bed and rolls in the sheets. "So, tell me about this Lee Taemin character. What is our next move?" 

 

I think for a while. "He is... naive. Innocent. He knows nothing of the ways of men and women." This is not quite true - not after I have had my hands on him - but Miyoung does not need to know that. "It will not be difficult to win him over, but you will have to be less of a vixen and more of a playmate, in a sense." 

 

"I hate playing innocent," Miyoung grumbles. "But you are right. I could tell at dinner earlier. He's the sort of clot that can't tell a duck from a dog without help." 

 

Taemin is intelligent, but again, I choose not to trouble Miyoung with that. "He is not allowed out of the house. Perhaps the best way to get him to notice you would be to join the family for breakfast tomorrow and suggest that you would like to take a walk in the gardens with Taemin." 

 

"Alright." 

 

"I better leave now." I have probably stayed longer than is safe in my joy to see my twin sister again. I will have to be more careful in the future. "Goodnight, Miyoung. Sleep well." 

 

She kisses me on the cheek. "Goodnight, Kibum." 

 

 

 

"What took you so long?" Taemin grumbles. "How am I supposed to get out of this ridiculous hanbok by myself?" 

 

"Blame Lady Miyoung," I reply. "She asked me many things about you. I think she likes you." 

 

"She does?" Taemin looks surprised. "What did she say?" 

 

I take Miyoung's handkerchief out of the folds of my tunic. "She bade me give you this, as a token of her affection." 

 

Taemin takes the delicate slip of cloth and studies it curiously. "What am I supposed to do with this? Do I wear it to show that I return her affections?" 

 

I gesture at him to stand up, so that I can start taking his clothes off. "A man should always carry a handkerchief-"

 

"-so that he can offer it to a crying lady," Taemin finishes.  

 

"Precisely." I start by unclasping the belt around Taemin's waist; I lay it carefully on the bed. Next, I slip the overcoat off his shoulders, taking care not to crease it. As I lay it next to the belt, I run a hand over the embroidered fish and think how lovingly the tailor has rendered each one onto the silk.  

 

"You can wear it," Taemin says then. "You appreciate it far more than I do." 

 

"I cannot." My mouth has gone dry with desire. 

 

With a huff, Taemin ungently grabs the overcoat from bed and holds it up. "Come on, Kibum."

 

Who am I to resist?

 

Taemin shows far more enthusiasm to dress me up than he has ever shown himself. He watches me admire myself in the mirror, smiling. "You know, I finally understand why you like my clothes. They look good on you. If I could, I would let you wear them anytime you please." 

 

It takes some effort to keep the smile on my face. I wish Taemin were half as spoilt as Miyoung seems to think he is. 

 

"It is late," I reply. "You should be asleep." 

 

Taemin comes behind me, to rest his head on my shoulder and lock his arms around my waist. In the mirror, we look like a lord and his consort. The look in his eyes, of admiration and lust, I want that look to be mine. I have to let him fall for Miyoung, but in that moment I realise just how difficult that task will be. 

 

 


	9. adore it

 

"I trust you slept well, Miyoung?"

 

I curse my father silently. Kibum helped me figure out how to start a conversation with Miyoung as I was getting dressed earlier, and this question had been my starting point. Now I shall have to think of something else.

 

"Very well, thank you." She takes a sip of her tea. Her hands are small, like mine. "The air is so different up here. I should like to take a walk around the gardens after breakfast, if that is permitted."

 

"Of course," my father answers. "In fact, we have many gardens; the flower gardens are sadly somewhat bare this time of the year, otherwise you would not even catch the missus indoors."

 

I hate it when my father speaks for my mother. I hate my mother for being so silent all of the time.

 

"There is the koi garden, of course, and the orchard." 

 

"They sound lovely. Taemin, which one do you like?" 

 

If only she knew the truth. "The koi garden. I have a view of it from my room." It is not entirely a lie. The koi garden is where I first walked on grass, where I dipped my feet in the koi pond and where Kibum and I fed each other stolen peaches. 

 

"Would you mind terribly if I asked you to take me there?"

 

Miyoung's question is a dangerous one. I do not know how to answer her, but my father answers for me. "Of course not. Taemin would be delighted to give you a tour." He waves a hand at me. "In fact, get the kitchen to pack you a picnic. Your servant can chaperone and help carry the necessities. I trust you will be nothing less than a gentleman with our guest, Taemin." 

 

"Yes, father." I keep my tone as formal as possible, but my heart is soaring inside. I glance at Miyoung, who smiles back at me; how beautiful that smile is, that smile which unlocked the doors of my prison. 

 

 

Miyoung tires of the koi quite quickly, so we head to the orchard. I have never seen this part of the gardens before, so it is as new to me as it is to her. There are many trees here; some I recognise from my books, and the others, Kibum knows. 

 

Everything is so vibrant and beautiful. There are so many colours, so many shades to each colour that my eyes know not where to look. Every leaf from every tree feels different in my hands. The sun dapples the ground through the shade of the trees. The ground is not clear like the koi gardens, but scattered with dried leaves and twigs which snap under my feet. 

 

"This is a good spot for a picnic," Kibum says when we reach the middle of the orchard. A stone fountain bubbles in the centrepoint of the four quadrants of fruit trees. It is a good place for a picnic, but I have no desire to sit and eat when there is so much left to see, to experience. Who knows when such an opportunity will arise again?  

 

Miyoung watches as Kibum lays a blanket down on the grass for us to sit. I would be jealous, were I not also aware of Kibum's singular beauty. The food Kibum lays out is nothing like my usual meals. The cooks have given us bread and cheese, jam and dried fruits and egg pancakes. I let Miyoung sit first and take a seat next to her, leaving enough space on the blanket for Kibum too.   

 

But he walks away.

 

"Kibum, where are you going?" 

 

"I have eaten my fill at breakfast," he replies. "So I am just going to walk around and see if there are fruits left for us to pick and take back." 

 

Miyoung's exclamation of delight distracts me before I can question Kibum furher. She has the small jar of jam in her hands, and she dips a finger in the dark, sticky thing and holds it out for me. "This is delicious!" she says. 

 

My ears and neck are red - I can feel them heat up - when I lick the jam from her finger. It is delicious. She smiles at me - a secret smile, a smile between two conspirators - and asks "Did you like it?" 

 

Is this why Kibum left? Did he know what would happen? 

 

We are sitting close together, so close that I can feel her breath on my cheek. Her lips are pretty; they are wickedly curved, like Kibum's. I know how to do this. I have kissed Kibum a countless number of times. I can kiss her too. I will not embarass myself. My heart flutters unsteadily, nervous, as I lean in and she closes the distance between us to kiss me. 

 

It feels wrong. 

 

I like kissing Kibum. I love it; the wet slide of our lips against each other, pushing and sucking and tugging and biting. 

 

Kissing Miyoung feels untrue, like we are playing at kissing. 

 

Fearing the worst, I break us apart. Miyoung sighs, her cheeks red. Her eyes shyly turn away when she says "I liked that." 

 

Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe this new freedom has thrown me off-balance, made me unable to tell what is pleasurable and what is not. When I dip my head for another kiss, Miyoung gladly complies; her enthusiasm adds to the growing pit of dread in my stomach. Her hand leaves her skirts and comes to rest on my thigh.

 

I feel sick. 

 

 

 

Kibum does not even fold my hanbok before pushing me against the wall and devouring my lips. The gale howling outside masks the sound of flesh hitting wood; of the sounds of our pleasure. Never before has Kibum been so harsh, so careless with me. He bites my lips and laps at the blood that wells up, and all I can do is wrap my hands in his tunic and pull him closer.

 

"You love this," Kibum says then, voice low and rough. 

 

I nod eagerly; time spent speaking is time not spent kissing, and in this moment I find such wastage unbearable. 

 

"Such a whore," Kibum continues. "You had Miyoung in the morning and me at night, and still you are insatiable." 

 

Kibum's words descend on me like a bucket of cold water, like a slap to the face. I step back, as much as the wall behind me will allow, as my ears ring with his accusation. Of course he thinks I enjoyed Miyoung's kisses; what man would not? 

 

"I only like kissing you." Kibum stills at my words. "It felt wrong with Miyoung." 

 

"Taemin." His voice is full of pity. I hate it. 

 

"I want to sleep alone tonight." 


	10. then bite

 

My anger at Taemin turns into indignation at being thrown out before it finally simmers into hurt. I overstepped my bounds when I called him a whore - I know that now - but it feels like he has rejected me in favour of a different, more conventional sort of pleasure. 

 

The insensibility of my hurt does not escape me. Our plan hinges on Taemin falling for Miyoung and agreeing to marry her. I should be happy. And yet, I am not. 

 

The wind howls, as if commiserating with me. I wonder whether there will be any delicate peach blossoms left on the trees. It is likely that they will have been blown away, their existence fragile and fleeting, much like Taemin's affections for me. I oinly wish my feelings could be so easily destroyed; even now, despite his rebuke, I still worry about Taemin. Is he cold? Does he know where his blankets are? 

 

I do not want to go running to him after being dismissed, but my mind refuses to allow me the comfort of sleep. Memories of Taemin's cold skin and chattering teeth come back to me, each time worse than before, until I admit defeat and go to check on him. Hopefully, he will be asleep and I can check on him without compromising my dignity.

 

His bed is empty. The window is open.

 

 

The wild wind threatens to blow out the small flame in my lamp. As it is, the flame is of little use; flickering too much to provide much illumination. I make my way through the garden mostly through familiarity, mostly because I have walked this way a thousand times between the main house and Taemin's chambers. 

 

I was so stupid to let my anger get the best of me. So stupid to presume that I could be unkind to him, that he could take it.

 

I trip over roots and branches as I run through the orchard. The south end of the orchard overlooks a steep slope that marks the edge of the property. It is dangerous to climb down on a good day; on a night like this, it is death. Somehow, I know I will find Taemin there. I pray while I run, to gods I stopped believing in, that I find Taemin before it is too late. 

 

The wall, imposing as it is in the daytime, looks like a shroud of nothingness in this thunderstorm. The hard rock of it is slippery under my hand. Wate sluices off its uneven surface, runs down in gushing rivulets. The pale, uncertain light of the lamp shows me something; a flash of bright blue silk in the corner of eye. 

 

I turn, and the light catches on Taemin's sodden figure, clinging to the wall for all he is worth. My heart stops. One false move and he will fall to his death. He must have caught sight of my lamp too, because he turns to me; his eyes widen with surprise, but they quickly narrow. It is a look I have seen many times before. It is a look of pure stubbornness, a look of determination, a look that says 'I will do this even if it kills me.'

 

"Taemin-" I have to yell to be heard over the crying wind "-come down!" I know the words are futile even as I say them. 

 

"No!" Taemin shouts back. "I am leaving." 

 

"You are going to get yourself killed." I put the lamp down and hold out a hand to him. In the distance, lightning flashes. He flinches, and I flinch with him. "I am sorry. Please Taemin, I really am sorry." I apologise without knowing that I am sorry for. There are so many ways I havw wronged him, tonight and before, from the very first day I stepped into this house.

 

He laughs, mirthless. "I cannot go through with this marriage." 

 

"Miyoung is just one girl! You can always marry someone else, surely-" 

 

"You are just like my father!" Taemin reaches up, heaves himself an inch higher, and my heart sinks a little lower. "You think I am making a fuss, that I am being childish. I have lived my whole life in one cage, and now you want me to walk into another? I cannot." 

 

I can barely breathe through my fear. Taemin's arms are quivering with the effort of holding on to the wet rock, and with each passing moment, the danger that he will slip increases. I cannot watch him die. 

 

"Taemin, please." He is like a wild animal; like a rabbit caught in a snare that will strangle itself trying to get free than face captivity. Our entire scheme will fall apart if Taemin refuses to marry, but in that moment, I do not care. I just want him safe. "I will help you. I promise I will help you out of this." 

 

Finally, Taemin stops climbing. "What can you do?" 

 

I hold my hand out to him again. "Trust me." 

 

 

We are both soaked to the bone and wild as the lightning streaking through the sky. I strip Taemin of his sodden clothes; he is shivering, but he rips mine off and drags me under the covers with him. 

 

"Taem-" the force of his kiss has our teeth clacking together "-nnnh." 

 

He breaks the kiss when we are both breathless, both a smidgen warmer than we were before it. "You promised," he says; his tone is imperative, but his eyes are wet, pleading. 

 

"I promised," I reply. My hands skim over his cold skin, trying to warm him like I always do, but this time I am cold as well. His lips part for me when I seek them out; his legs part for me when I push my thigh between them. I rewrite my promise in dark marks all over his pale skin as we rock against each other, neither of us caring to silence our desperate cries; who can hear us over the storm? 

 


	11. jubilance

The bed is empty when I wake up. The floor is bare; our wet clothes have been cleared away. There is no sign of Kibum, save for the stains on my sheets. The stillness of the morning feels oppressive.

 

Just as I am about to rise and dress myself, Kibum comes in. My breath catches. I remember the desperation in his voice as he begged me to come back inside, in his touch as he pinned me under him and kept me from running away again. There is nothing of that desperation in him now; he is naught but serene as he lays my breakfast before me and gives me instructions from my father. 

 

I am supposed to join Miyoung and my cousin in the library after breakfast. I am supposed to wear the green hanbok with the balsam detailing. I am supposed to play the harp for them; first the Ode to Spring Rains and then the Refrain of the Seonnyeo. I am to invite them to take lunch in the Orchid Terrace. If my father could tell me what to think, he would. 

 

Kibum dresses me as carefully as he always does. His eyes linger on the marks littering my skin, like plums against snow, and he draws the collar of my hanbok higher than usual to hide them. It is then I notice how high his collar is drawn as well. I want to reach out, to press my finger into his bruises and ask whether they hurt as mine do; deliciously, like a memory I can relive just by touching them. 

 

He combs my hair and our eyes meet in the mirror. 

 

“Forgive me,” he says, pressing a kiss to my head. 

 

“There is no trespass to forgive.” I lean up to claim his lips and he lets me. He is soft and pliant for me, letting my tongue delve where I wish; his fingers slip under my collar to brush gently against my neck. I smile; we have weathered the storm. We are alright. 

 

A knock on the door. 

 

We break apart, aflush with guilt, and Kibum wipes a hand across his lips before answering. I stay where I am. In the mirror, I can see that the person who has come calling is Miyoung’s maid; no doubt here to summon Kibum again. I tire of the household taking Kibum away from me, of them making him keep secrets from me. 

 

When he leaves with her, I follow them. This house was built for a family much larger than its current handful of inhabitants, and there are many disused corridors that I only know how to navigate. Miyoung's room is in the western quarter, overlooking the pear trees in the orchard. There is a servant's corridor next to her room - which her maid occupies - and behind both rooms is a narrow passageway meant for servants to pass through between the wings of the house without disturbing their masters.

 

I cannot see them, but I can hear them. It is enough.   

 

"My lady," Kibum says. 

 

"Beom-ja, leave us." Miyoung's voice. A moment later, the sound of a door being drawn shut. 

 

"What the hell did you do to him?" I nearly exclaim aloud at Kibum's change of tone, at his rudeness, and bite down on my sleeve to muffle any sound. If she tells my father, he will be lucky to escape with just a dismissal. "I turn my back for one moment, and you drive him to suicide!" 

 

"I did no such thing!" Miyoung whisper-yells in return. "I kissed him, that is all. He liked it." 

 

"Yes, he liked it so much he tried to jump off the fucking wall yesterday night. We would all be attending his funeral today if I had not the wit to realise that he had run off." Kibum sounds furious. "I told you not to be too forward with him." 

 

That surprise me, that Kibum has spoken to her about me. I think back, and realise that he was gone for a long time before he came back with her handkerchief. Perhaps she had asked him about me. 

 

"If I were any less forward with him, we would be going backwards." Miyoung sounds just as furious as Kibum. "But then again, I was never a temptress on par with you, brother dear. Do you think I was born yesterday?" 

 

The corridor, though wide enough for me earlier, now feels far too small. There is little air for me to breathe. I pinch myself, hard; Miyoung is from the South, perhaps they use 'brother' in a wider context than we do. She cannot mean that Kibum is her blood brother. 

 

What a fool I have been. 

 

"I would have to be blind not to notice how he moons after you. You hide it better, but I know you. You love pretty little things like him and you could not resist, could you? Just tell me this, because I now have to clean up your mess: is our plan salvageable at all, or have you ruined him completely?" 

 

A long, weary sigh from Kibum. He does not defend himself against her allegations. "It can still work." 

 

 

 

My fingers play the Ode to Spring Rains and then the Refrain of the Seonnyeo, but my mind is elsewhere. 

 

Miyoung looks up at me with open adoration. What a good actor she is. My cousin feigns interest, but he has yawned twice now. The humidity of the air after the rain makes it hard for me to breathe, or is it the knowledge that I am always a pawn in games played by other people? 

 

Kibum stands a respectful distance away. My eyes betray me and stray to him, even now. Unlike Miyoung and my cousin, he is listening to me play. He looks concerned. He has heard me play many times before, so I am sure that he can tell that something is awry. I cannot bear to look at any of them for long, so I close my eyes and let the song take me away from this prison. 

 

 

My father must have spoken to my cousin; otherwise, he would not have excused himself before the final course is served. Miyoung and I are alone, save for Kibum and the servants that bring our food and clear the plates away. 

 

The final course is delicately moulded jellies; flavoured with chrysanthemum and decorated with wolfberries, each mouthful shaped like a flower. 

 

Miyoung exclaims at how pretty they are. I keep hearing her actual voice, sharp and cutting as Kibum's, instead of the breathy one she adopts with me. Does she think it is attractive? Does she do it to mask her intelligence? I could confront them both now if I wanted, if I had the courage to. it is easy enough to guess what their plan must be; to get her married to me and create a claim over my inheritance. 

 

"Here, try one." She picks one up and offers it to me. I take it, trying to not gag at the way her fingers linger in my mouth. Just last night, I had sucked on Kibum's fingers, wet with our release. What a depraved band of people the three of us are. 

 

"I want to try it too," she say, interrupting my thoughts. 

 

Kibum coughs in the corner. 

 

I take a piece of jelly and feed her just to spite him, but when she takes my fingers in her mouth, I feel nothing but disgust. She does not notice - or if she does, she does not care - and she leans forward boldly. I can feel her breath on my face and hear the sound of her swallowing the jelly. Her hand comes to rest on my thigh and I jump, startled. 

 

"Please stop," I plead. 

 

"It's okay," she says quietly. "I can make you feel good too."

 

"Stop." No one will help me. Miyoung, Kibum, my father, the servants - they all want this. They have left us alone precisely so that something like this will happen. 

 

"Shhhhh." Her hand travels upwards, seeking. 

 

Before I can react, Kibum marches over and yanks Miyoung away from me. She shies away from him and knocks into the table, which comes crashing down with a thunderous sound. I scramble away from the spilled jelly and the fruit liquer pooling at our feet. Kibum still has Miyoung's hand in his grasp, and he has put himself in between us. 

 

"Let go of me!" She tries pulling her hand away, but Kibum is strong. 

 

"Kibum, let-" my request to him to let her go is drowned out by the sound of running feet. The servants have come running, from the cook to the dishwasher, and right behind them is my father. 

 

"What is the meaning of this?" As soon as they hear his voice, the servants line up and bow respectfully. Kibum releases Miyoung's hand; she cradles it to her chest, and I catch a glimpse of purpling skin. Miyoung lets out a small, choked sob. My father looks furious. "Has everyone lost their tongues? What happened here?" 

 

"He grabbed me," Miyoung cries, pointing at Kibum. "I was talking to Taemin and he just-"

 

"Talk?" Kibum interrupts Miyoung. "She threw herself at him-"

 

My father slaps him across the face. My body flinches with the memory of the same hand striking me; I know how painful it is. "How dare you speak out of turn? How dare you accuse a lady of such behaviour?" 

 

Kibum does not back down. I have always admired his tenacity and fearlessness, but in this I know there is no victory. My father's rage cannot be conquered; it can only appeased by subservience. "Ask Ta- Master Lee. Her conduct was unbecoming and unwelcome."   

 

"Is it true?" My father asks me as if he already knows the answer; as if no male of the Lee family would ever find a woman's touch unwelcome. How I long to put rest to that presumption. But Kibum is also looking at me as if he knows what my answer will be; as if he is not plotting behind my back to marry me off, as if he has not used me just as much as my father has, as if his promises were not as empty and weightless as air. 

 

"Nothing untoward happened," I say. I look Kibum in the eyes, delighting in his shock. "I honestly have no idea what possessed Kibum to react like this. He is loyal, but overprotective. Lady Miyoung has been most unjustly treated." 

 

My father points at Mr Su, the head servant. "You, take care of this." He bows deeply to Miyoung. "Please forgive us," he says. "Come to Tea Room, and allow me to call a physician to tend to you." 

 

She takes his hand and leaves, and I follow them. 

 

 


	12. days we live

 

Mr Su puts me to work peeling burdock and lotus roots in a damp and dim corner of the kitchen for the rest of the day, without any lunch or dinner. None of the other servants spare me so much as a glance. I do not mind; it gives me time to ponder Taemin's sudden hostility against me.

 

Try as I might, I cannot figure it out. He was uncomfortable when Miyoung touched him; I could tell that much from his voice, even if I did not hear what he said to her. Maybe he was afraid of his father, but that does not explain why he looked so smug and satisfied when he blamed me. What have I done to displease him?

 

At last, when all of the dishes are washed and tomorrow's rice is left to soak, when all of the servants have had their supper and gone to bed, Mr Su comes for me. "I do not blame you for interfering," he says. "Your duty is to Master Lee, to see his comfort and upkeep. You have done admirably so far. I have served this family for a long time and he has always been a sullen child. In your company, he is less so."

 

Then Mr Su's voice becomes harsh. "But what you have done today is unforgiveable. You humiliated the Master in front of his guest, laid your hands on a noble woman and spoke out of turn. Such conduct cannot go unpunished." 

 

My blood runs cold.  

 

"You have a choice. You can choose dismissal or corporal punishment." Mr Su's tone softens then. "If you choose dismissal, I will see to it that you are paid the wages due to you." 

 

I realise then that he is giving me the answer; he wants me to leave. He does not want to have to mete out whatever corporal punishment this household practices and that itself should be warning enough of the severity of the punishment. For a moment, I am tempted to leave. I am tired of pretending to be someone I am not, and I no longer covet anything to be gained from this pretense.

 

The temptation passes; it was nothing more than momentary foolishness. I cannot abandon Miyoung in the middle of a scheme.

 

My voice sounds shaky when I say "I cannot afford to leave, Mr Su."  

 

"Very well." He pulls a rattan chair to the middle of the room and turns its back to me. "Take off your tunic and brace your hands against the chair." 

 

My hands undo the heavy tunic as if they are moved by some puppet-master; my mind is blank. It falls to the ground. My inner shirt follows. I turn my back to Mr Su. I can hear him moving behind me. 

 

I expect the lash of a whip or a belt; perhaps even a cane. So when a heavy, solid blow lands on my back, I am caught so off-guard that I cry out and stumble forward. If not for the chair, I would have fallen. 

 

"Return to your position," Mr Su commands. At the back of my head is a voice screaming that this is all madness, that I no man should have to subject himself to this sort of barbary. My body, however, moves of its own will; I take hold of the back of the chair and stand upright once more. 

 

The blow lands again. 

 

And again. 

 

And again. 

 

And again. 

 

Tonight, I take refuge in the servants' quarters. It is very late and I have no wish to be near Taemin any time soon. Despite the pain, I have almost succumbed into the kind arms of sleep when I am harshly woken by Jiang Nan, one of the younger footmen. 

 

"What is it?" 

 

"The Young Master has been asking for you," he says. "He says you're to go to him right away." 

 

How wicked. I pull my aching body off the floor and go to my master, like a dog that exists solely for the amusement of beings it cannot understand. 

 

Despite the lateness of the hour, Taemin is still awake and still dressed in one of his magnificently tailored hanbok. His face is petulant, angry; I had always thought of that particular face of his as childish, but I know now that Taemin's displeasure has far greater consequences than that of an innocent child. His anger feels sinister to me now. 

 

"Do you know how long I have been waiting?" Taemin snaps. "It is bad enough that I had to dress myself, do you expect me to undress and put it all away myself too?"

 

I bow slightly in apology, wincing as the movement stretches my injured back. My pain goes unnoticed. Taemin's face is as cold as marble - and as beautiful - as he stands and waits for me to slip the heavily embroidered fabric off his body. It is easy to lose myself in the physicality of the task; to silence my thoughts through rote action. I need not expend any thought on folding the hanbok or slipping Taemin's undershirt over his shoulders or turning the covers over so that he can slip under them. 

 

But when I bend to take the blanket at the foot of the bed to drape it over him, the stretch once again reignites the pain and my vision swims, so sharp and sudden it is. 

 

When I come to my senses again, I find myself sitting on the floor; Taemin is crouched in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. "Kibum? Kibum, say something." 

 

What am I to say? 

 

"You look pale." Do I? I have not had the chance to glance into a mirror all day. I do not think I could bear to face myself. "Kibum, did you eat at all?" 

 

I have not, but hunger alone is not enough to reduce me into pallid speechlesness. Both Miyoung and I have slept on empty stomachs before. "I will eat in the morning." 

 

Taemin's face does a funny thing. I am not myself; I am too tired to decipher what this face means. I just want him to leave me be. "Come on," he finally says. "Let's get you to bed." Before I can stop him, his hands have grasped my sides, trying to get me to stand. Before I can stop myself, I have cried out in pain. My flesh feels raw; my whole body feels like an open wound. 

 

"Kibum!" Taemin all but drops me on the bed, his hands pushing past my clothes.  

 

"Stop." My voice shakes. My hands shake too, as I pry his hands away from my body. How can he pretend that he cares? That he does not know what he was setting me up for?

 

"Who did this to you?" 

 

"Please..." I am so tired. "Just stop." 

 

Despite my anger at him - despite my desire to be as far as possible from him tonight - I cannot resist when Taemin pushes me to lie down and covers me with the blanket. His hand feels cool when he lays it on my forehead. "Just rest," he says. "Sleep." 

 

And so I do.

 

 

I awake to a dull, constant ache. Sunlight streams through the window, bright, and it takes me a moment to realise that I have slept far longer than my duties will allow. My eyes burn with the injustice of it, but before I can get up, Taemin keeps me down with a hand on my shoulder. "You can rest, Kibum. I have seen to it that you are relieved of your duties today." He waits a moment before adding "And I have seen to it that no one will ever lay a hand on you again." 

 

As much as I want to be angry at Taemin, I find myself taking comfort in his words. Is this what it is like to be in love? To lose your dignity and all sense of self, to be grateful for the barest scraps of affection from one's beloved? If it is, I want no part of it. 

 

"Why do you lay your blame at a neighbour's door? Do you think the man who wielded the whip had any more choice in the matter than I did?" 

 

Taemin shies away from me as if my words have burned him. 

 

We are both saved from each other by a knock at the door. "Young Master Lee, your father requests your presence at his study," a maid announces. It is lucky that she did not open the door. 

 

"I have to go," Taemin says softly. "Please rest. There is some bread and fruit on the table if you are hungry." 

 

When Taemin returns, it is evening. I have eaten the bread and fruit and rested, just as he asked. My body is still unwell, but my mind is awake. In his absence, I thought of many things I wanted to say, many questions I wanted to ask. But seeing him, the words evaporate before I can voice them. Taemin, too, seems at a loss for words. 

 

For the second time, we are saved by a knock on the door. This time, a male voice speaks. "Young Master Lee, I have come to assist you with your bath." 

 

Taemin moves to open the door, but I find my voice before he does. "I have taken care of it," I say loudly. "Your assistance is not required." 

 

It is ridiculous, I know. My body still aches. It will ache more once I have pumped enough water to fill his bath. Someone must have assisted him before I became his servant, and someone will assist him after, but for now, I cannot abide the thought of anyone else laying eyes on any part of him hidden by clothes. What lies beneath is for my enjoyment alone. 

 

"You do not-"

 

"I am not an invalid." 

 

I fill the bath and pour scented oil into it, in lieu of peach blossoms. I help Taemin out of his hanbok and turn to leave when he asks "Can you stay, Kibum?" 

 

How can I refuse? 

 

I sit by the tub as he bathes; neither of us say anything, despite there being much need for words, because this truce between us is too fragile. Outside, the birds are chirping their last for the day. 

 

"Kibum." 

 

I turn to him. 

 

"Bathe with me?"

 

The room feels humid with heat all of a sudden. I do not particularly wish to expose myself in front of Taemin, but he is right; I have not bathed since yesterday morning. I must smell of ointment and sweat and the kitchen. With my back turned to him, I disrobe and put my servants' clothes on the ground. Let him see the scars. Let him see what his careless show of anger has caused. 

 

There is room in the tub for one. I expected Taemin to leave, but he remains seated in it. At my look of confusion, he says "On my lap... if you do not mind, that is." It is a feigned nonchalance; one that I have learned to see through. 

 

If Taemin can pretend to be unaffected, then so can I. I swing myself into the tub as if it were my birthright, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary for me to face him, as if there is nothing sexual in the way that I straddle his lean thighs. I do not realise that I am holding my breath until I exhale, and it is then that I feel soothed by the warmth of the water. For a moment, everything else falls away. 

 

"Kibum." 

 

I open my eyes and Taemin finds my lips with his. I have fought a battle of wills against him all day long, only to find that I never desired to win. When Taemin's tongue traces the line between my lips, I part them to let him in. His kisses are gentle and unhurried and, in their own way, calming. When we break apart, Taemin mouths at my neck; his hands on my waist keep me steady as I tip my head back. 

 

Taemin's lips trace a path down my neck to my chest, and I have to hold back a gasp of surprise when he takes my left nipple into his mouth. The warm wetness of his tongue, scraping over that sensitive flesh, awakens other parts of me that, only in earlier today, I thought would never rise for him again. My body is a treasonous, treacherous; and Taemin has learnt how to play it like his flute. One hand slips down my waist and into the water, curling around my heated flesh and stroking in that exquisite way that I taught him to not so many nights ago. 

 

Still stroking, Taemin turns his attention to my right nipple. I put a hand in his hair to keep his head where it is; to prevent him from moving away. I can feel my climax draw closer with each pass of his tongue over my nipple, with each stroke of his hand over the head of my erection. It is a relief when I come. My release clouds the water between us and I drop my head on Taemin's shoulder while I try to catch my breath. 

 

"Beautiful," Taemin murmurs. I reach down to bring him to completion as well, but he catches my hand. "No... this was for you." 

 

"Thank you." I understand now; this is Taemin's way of showing that he is sorry, of atoning for what has happened. 

 

We dry off and slip into bed unclothed, and lie facing each other. In the dark of the night, Taemin's eyes glitter; I admire how beautiful they are before I realise, with a sinking heart, that they are glittering with unshead tears. 

 

"Taemin..." I reach out to take him in my arms, but Taemin moves away. 

 

"You do not have to," he says, wiping at his eyes. "You do not have to pretend to want me." 

 

"I am not pretending-"

 

"I know about you and Miyoung."

 

 

 


	13. as if death were nowhere

I know by Kibum's harsh intake of breath that my accusation is, beoynd any shade of doubt, true. 

 

I have known since the moment I overheard their conversation, but Kibum's confirmation hurts nonetheless. 

 

"Tae-"

 

"I followed you to her room. I know she is your sister. You two must be very good at what you do to fool my father, though I imagine it was far easier to fool me." My voice cracks at the end, when I remember how Kibum came after me in the rain and promised to find a way to save me from the marriage. Still, the bitterness of Kibum's betrayal lingers in my mouth and spills forth against my will. "Still, it was very cheeky of you to risk the whole plan for the sake of satisfying your lust. Poor Miyoung has to work so much harder now-"

 

"Stop this." Kibum grabs my face with both hands and forces me to meet his gaze. "Yes, Miyoung is my sister. We heard that your father was looking for a suitable match and we came here to capitalise off it, I can admit that, but what we have is not a lie." 

 

"What do we have?" 

 

"I care about you, deeply." Kibum lets go of my face. "I never wanted to hurt you." 

 

"So that was your brilliant plan, was it? To get me married off to your sister, and have us carrying on behind her back?" I want to laugh at the selfishness of it all, but Kibum turns his face away and my incensed mirth runs cold. 

 

"We..." Kibum swallows nervously "...we know a physician who can be bought, who will say that Miyoung is with child. Because of the curse, Miyoung will ask to return to her own family until the baby is born. If your father resists, there is a priest who will come to say that any child born under this roof is in peril and that the only way for your child to live is to be born outside these walls." 

 

I want to stop Kibum from speaking. Every word, every detail of his plan is a blow to my already battered spirit. My imagination, wild though it has run these past days, is nothing compared what Kibum and Miyoung have in store for me. 

 

"After a suitable amount of time, she will bring a baby back. It is easy, you know, to buy babies. Outside of these walls, people are poor, and desperate, and they will do anything to survive. And then..." Kibum raises his head to look at me; his eyes are unguarded, apologetic. No, not that. His eyes are filled with pity. "And then your father will have a new heir, not just a sickly strange child who prefers books over human company." 

 

Sickly. Strange. I have heard the other servants whisper those words before, but falling from Kibum's lips? They are like knives. 

 

"It will not be difficult to convince him that you would be better off in an institution. For your health, of course. And for your child, so that he does not follow in your footsteps. And then everything you own will belong to Miyoung, and what Miyoung owns I own. That was the plan." 

 

My breath stops in my chest. "So... so you would remove me from one prison and put me in another?" All my life, I have lived in a cage. Kibum promised to set me free - he gave me my first taste of freedom - but he is no different from my father. It seems that I am only fit for captivity. "I would rather die. If you care for me at all, just kill me and be done with it-"

 

Kibum cuts me off with a kiss; despite the poison his lips spewed forth earlier, my body reacts with hunger. When he is kissing me, I believe every single one of his lies. 

 

We break apart and I find myself silent, spent. Kibum tips my head up with a gentle hand. "I know you do not believe me, but I have no intention of imprisoning you, be it here or elsewhere. Miyoung and I made that plan over a year ago. It took us many months to put it in action. We planned for every eventuality bar one; you." 

 

The tears that I have kept at bay all night finally spill free.

 

Kibum shakes his head and wipes them away with his thumb. "I made you a promise. I intend to keep it. Please bear with me a little longer while I figure out how." 

 

Despite everything, I find myself nodding. Kibum draws me into his arms and sways from side to side as if we are dancing. "My sweet little peach," he coos "I am so sorry for hurting you so."

 

XXXXX

 

A/N: 

 

_I used to wonder which fics of mine I'd recommend to each SHINee member if I ever got to do so; it's the silly little daydream of an author, not something I ever expected to take place in real life. I used to wonder whether I should let Kibum read Stockholm Syndrome, or whether I'd have the courage to inflict These Violent Delights on him. I used to wonder which of my Halloween fics Taemin might like more. I used to wonder whether anything I've ever written would capture Jinki or Minho's interest._

 

_But the one thing I've never doubted was that Peach was Jonghyun's story. Only Jonghyun, I felt, would be able to appreciate the atmosphere of this fic; only Jonghyun would understand that the numerous sex scenes were not my own fantasies, but necessary to set the erotic/forbidden tone of this particular story._

 

_This last chapter is what I had been working on._

 

_I think it is only right that this particular fic remain unfinished, like the story of the man it was meant for._

 

_The title of each chapter is taken from a poem by Li-Young Lee named 'From Blossoms'. I looked forward to using that last line, sweet as it was, to write the happy ending I had mapped out Taemin and Kibum. That will never happen now, but I'll leave the poem in full below so that, if you like, you can read it and imagine the sort of ending I would have given to my peach blossom boys._

 

*

 

From blossoms comes 

this brown paper bag of peaches 

we bought from the boy 

at the bend in the road where we turned toward   

signs painted  _Peaches_. 

 

From laden boughs, from hands, 

from sweet fellowship in the bins, 

comes nectar at the roadside, succulent 

peaches we devour, dusty skin and all, 

comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat. 

 

O, to take what we love inside, 

to carry within us an orchard, to eat 

not only the skin, but the shade, 

not only the sugar, but the days, to hold 

the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into   

the round jubilance of peach.

 

There are days we live 

as if death were nowhere 

in the background; from joy 

to joy to joy, from wing to wing, 

from blossom to blossom to 

impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

 


End file.
